Missing Scene From Episode Six
by Lady Etiquette
Summary: When Matthew was Mary's "sole charge" during the months of his recovery, I always felt his reaction to Lavinia's return was a sad one. Just what did happen between Matthew and Mary during those months? Thanks to Julian Fellowes for his characters!
1. Chapter 1

Matthew was sitting upright in bed, his back up against the head of the bed, cushioned by several pillows, as his fingers turned the corner of a page of the book in his lap. He was still in his uniform, but had discarded the jacket, and was reclined on the bed in his shirt and necktie and long trousers. His brown shoes were off, so he was in his stocking feet, his legs straight out. He had just started to read aloud the opening sentence of the next chapter, when he glanced up and realized that Mary had nodded off in the chair she pulled beside the bed. His eyes took her in and he slowly and quietly closed the book. At this late hour, the lamp on the dresser across the bedroom filled the room with a golden glow, which was like candlelight across her features. His room on the first floor of Downton was filled with midnight, as was the rest of the great house.

His head fell back against the wall and he watched her momentarily. He loved looking at her while she slept. He knew she was spending too much time with him. How had Carlisle phrased it? That he was Mary's "sole charge." He was right, Matthew thought. But he liked it. Asking Lavinia to return to London when he had first been brought home injured from the front had been the right thing to do—she would be better off and they both knew it. He told her he loved her, and he had meant it. But their relationship was never really intended for a lifetime and certainly not for this. Theirs had been a sweet crush, an innocent attraction that hastily became a loving engagement. Lavinia was a war time romance. But Mary was his love story.

His eyes closed as he recalled those first days back from the front, several months ago, in the convalescent wing. The feel of her hands caring for him and bathing him; helping him with medication, eating, changing his pajamas and even his bed pans. She had tenderly brushed his hair back when he had been sick and helped him with every basic need. As the days had passed, Mary had never left his side, reading to him, and talking to him encouragingly of his progress. No doubt she had seen every battered part of his body, and mind, but helped him cope and pull through the shock and pain of his ordeal. He had felt like a man broken in two; paralyzed from the waist down, but fully functioning from the waist up. His heart and intellect were completely intact, but his manhood and mobility had remained behind on the battlefield. He had wanted to die. But with Mary's help, he found all of the little lost pieces of his sanity and self respect, so he could put himself back together again, and find the courage to survive. Until one day, magically, he was able to take a seat in the wheelchair and begin moving forward again, with her by his side.

As the weeks passed, they settled in to a routine. In the morning he would dress—still in military service of course—and begin the day by having breakfast with the other officers. He enjoyed the camaraderie and sharing their stories of recovery, and talks about plans beyond the war. Then Mary would join him and they began spending time in the garden and around the grounds of the estate, talking and reading, and sparring about this or that. The sun felt good and looked beautiful shining in her hair and eyes. They even found their way back to the bench by the tree, a favorite spot of theirs, where they used to sit and talk, and now found themselves doing so again. Then, in the evening, they dined with the rest of the family, and later would find a spot in the library or the drawing room taking turns reading from a book, sharing the story. Somehow this late night ritual had moved to his quarters on the first floor. He liked the little room-it was classically masculine, comfortable and sensible. And more importantly, it was private.

He opened his eyes and looked at her now, still sleeping in the chair. They hadn't changed for dinner, so she was wearing a brown day skirt and cream colored blouse, her hair up in combs. One of her hands had flopped on to the bed, palm up. He gently brushed two fingers across her open palm, and it closed around his, like a child's. A smile turned up one corner of his mouth, and he looked up from their hands to her face.

He whispered, "Mary." He kept his voice soft and let it float across to her. Just then his eyes happened to notice a tiny brownish red cut on her lower lip. Carlisle, Matthew thought, his eyebrows knitted in secret anger. He and Mary had gone over to Haxby Park, that ostentatious palace Carlisle was considering for their home, and the bastard had probably pushed himself on to her.

Mary's eyes began to flutter open and Matthew's smile returned. He gently tugged on her thumb. "There you are." He spoke gently to her, his face softening, his head still leaning back against the wall.

"Mmmm, I must have dozed off." Her voice sounded deep and thick. "You should have woken me." She looked at him from under her eyelids. She noticed how he looked at her and thought he looked incredibly handsome. A lock of blond hair fell over his forehead and his blue eyes glittered back at her.

He tugged slightly more on her hand, pulling her toward him on the bed. "I don't think you've been getting enough sleep."

She sighed. "What did I miss in our story?"

"The butler did it." He was still pulling her toward him, and she was letting him, chuckling at his remark. Sleepy and compliant Mary was becoming one of his favorite people. "Come here," he uttered it gently to her.

She moved up from the chair and gingerly sat beside him on the bed. As she looked at him her hand held his tighter, looking in to his eyes. "I don't know if there's enough room for both of us. And you might be ucomfort…"

"Sshh," he cut her off sweetly. His hand was still tenderly pulling her to him. "We'll make room," he was whispering. With his other hand he balanced himself on the mattress, and in several quick movements worked to move his hips further to the other side.

She turned, stretching alongside, her knees bent towards him, and put her head on his shoulder and her arms around him. She hummed. "Mmmmm, you're so warm."

Matthew wrapped his arms around her and leaned his head against hers. "So are you." His hands rubbed up and down her arms and around her back. "I just worry that you are so preoccupied with my welfare that you are ignoring your own." He brushed his lips against her hair. "I think you need to get more sleep."

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "You shouldn't worry about me, Matthew." Her scold was quiet and soft.

"I like worrying about you." He pulled her closer and exhaled a sigh.

They sat like that for several minutes, and she snuggled against him. "You, know, I found a lovely book at the library last week that is all about how people with injuries like yours can still dance."

His smile broadened. "Huh." It was fascinating. "How so?"

"Well, they have to use their wheelchair of course, but it's all about simulating the experience."

He blinked his eyes in thought. "Go on" His tone was encouraging and kind.

"It seems that by mimicking certain movements, and using a more acute psychological approach, one can share the experience of dancing, almost like they had before." Her eyes were closed as she spoke, still half asleep, and relishing this intimacy with him.

He was thinking about what she was saying more than she was. His voice was deep and heavy. "And what about their partner? Do they also enjoy this modified and psychological dance technique?"

She nodded against him. "Yes, apparently they do, very much." She opened her eyes and looked up at him and smiled.

As he regarded her, his eyes noticed the little sore on her lip again. "You have a tiny little wound." He touched a finger tip to it.

"Mmmm." She hummed at his touch. "It's nothing."

"I could kiss it and make it feel all better." His eyes were dark sapphire blue, absorbing her.

She gazed back at him. "That is probably just what the doctor ordered."


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew carefully and hesitantly leaned down to touch his lips to hers. His whole mouth tingled at the sensation of kissing her. It warmed him throughout his entire body, even in his legs. He bent his head and she opened her mouth a little more to him, and his tongue rimmed her lips, paying special attention to the tiny cut on her lip, bending his head and licking it, eliciting a moan from her throat. He ran his hands up and down her arms and around her waist and sides. She sighed in to him, and he deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue in to her mouth, making her moan with pleasure. The sound rippled through him and he felt it everywhere, his cheeks flushing at the emotion of it.

Mary raised one of her hands to his hair and ran her fingers through it, luxuriating in the soft strands. Running her hands through his hair, he made wonderful humming noises that vibrated in to the back of her throat and it sent waves of arousal through her body. Her eyes closed, she arched slightly against him and he turned more toward her, nudging her back on to the bed beside him. Her hands reached for his necktie, pulling it and loosening it, fiddling with the collar buttons. They both moaned at the intent.

"Mary," he mumbled decadently through their kisses.

"Oh, yes…" She was breathless, having wanted this for such a very long time since his return.

"I just need a little help." He huffed out a laugh. She looked at him and laid back carefully, helping him to steady himself as he turned to stretch out alongside her, leaning over her. She helped him bend one of his legs between hers.

"Are you alright?" She as looking up at him.

"Yes, of course, we'll just need to take this one step at a time." He nuzzled her nose. "Like dancing..." His mouth descended again, desparately taking hers.

The feel of his body was ratcheting up her current state of arousal to new depths. Her hands tenderly roamed up his back and carefully over his shoulder blades, careful of his recovered injury.

"Mary?" He paused, panting against her lips as he spoke the question.

"Yes?" She could barely hear herself think.

"You don't have to be so gentle." He smiled a sweet smile at her and bent his head again to take her mouth.

Mary groaned at the pleasure of it all, and let her hands eagerly rub up and down his back, pulling him closer and on to her. She wanted and needed to feel his body. Her hands found his tie again and began slipping the knot, as his mouth trailed from her lips to her jaw line, leaving wet open mouthed kisses, and brushing his teeth down over her neck and up her ear lobe.

Her hands momentarily froze as she thought she might peak just from the ministrations of his lips on her neck, the feel of his weight against her, and the feel of his breath on her ear. She found herself again and began working off his necktie, which she slipped loose and discarded to the floor. Her fingers busily popped open the buttons of his Army shirt and slid it down his arms.

He had to pause and lean back to slip off the shirt, and Mary leaned over helping him, placing little hot kisses all over his neck and down over his chest as the shirt was tossed away. He laughed and his hands reached for her hair combs, pulling them out one by one. "I love your hair," he whispered. "I have always wanted to see it tumble down."

She smiled and helped him free the combs from her hair, and her brown tresses fell and cascaded down around her shoulders. As she did this his hands began unbuttoning her blouse, his fingertips grazing her body as he expertly opened the garment to push it over her shoulders and down her arms.

"You are quite efficient at that, Captain Crawely." She was breathing heavily. "Dare I ask where you learned such skills?" Her voice was a soft tease.

His mouth was back on her neck again, chuckling, pushing her back down on the mattress, as he balanced himself on his arms. "No you may not." He looked down at her and they shared a wonderful smile. They were breathing rapidly, flushed, their noses brushed and their mouths were barely touching, breathing each other in.

His mouth found hers again, moving his kisses down over her chin and neck to the center of her chest. She arched up against him as he kissed across the top of her breasts, groaning against her. She realized he would not be able to balance himself and remove her undergarment at the same time, so she reached up and discreetly tugged at the straps of her camisole and pulled it down, revealing herself, and looking up at him.

Matthew looked down at her. "Oh, Mary, you are so incredibly lovely." He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. She smiled back at him and they shared a warm, penetrating kiss. His tongue filled her mouth, their tongues sliding over each other, her hands twisted in his hair. He kissed her jaw and neck and moved downward until he was placing kisses along the mounds of her breasts, and then he took one in his mouth and sucked hungrily at it, causing her body to lift up off the bed.

"Oh, God, Matthew!" Her hands clutched his back, pulling him closer. Every nerve ending in her body was pulsating with white hot desire. She felt her core wet with arousal and her mind was a blur of feelings and love. He moaned in to her and his kisses trailed to the other breast, and he licked and sucked it, teasing it until she was writhing beneath him. He moaned against her nipples which sent more shockwaves of arousal straight through to her center.

His fingers found the button of her skirt and unfastened it, loosening and opening the waist. One of his hands slid inside and smoothed over her abdomen and up her rib cage. Her head fell back on the pillow and she arched in to his caress, panting and moaning his name.

He pulled his head back to look down at her as he let his hand move over her body, tracing warm circles, watching her and dropping wet mouthed kisses to her parted lips, neck and breasts. As he kissed her his hand slid down between her legs, where his fingers were delighted by very damp satin. He groaned softly as his fingertips grazed the outside of the material.

Mary was nearly out of her mind. "Oh, Matthew…please…" She opened her eyes and looked up at him, suddenly realizing she wasn't entirely sure what would come next.

Balanced partially on top and poised over her, he looked in to her eyes as he slowly slid his hand inside of her lingerie, sliding his fingers along her wet folds. Her creamy essence coated his fingers and hand as he moved it back and forth, and he moaned at the sensation.

His eyes slipped closed. "Oh, God, Mary…Oh, dear God, you are so beautiful." He opened his eyes again as he slowly and tenderly slid a finger inside of her. As he began to move it in and out, her hips rocked gently back and forth with the rhythm he was setting. They both groaned at the feeling. He inserted a second finger and her head went back on to the pillow again, her mouth open as ecstasy began to fill her whole body.

"I love you," he muttered, his own arousal flooding his voice. He felt arousal, and yet it was different. He didn't feel it in the usual way he used to, which frustrated him, yet touching her, hearing her and watching her was intensely arousing and he felt a tingling sensation coursing throughout his body. His mouth found her neck again. "I love you so much. I have always wanted you like this."

"Yes," she murmured. She felt her orgasm so close, just over the edge of the consciousness she was quickly losing her grip on. "Please more…"

He was making love to her with his mouth and hand, rhythmically gliding his hand in and out…more and more and more. Her wet center was sopping wet. His mouth was licking and sucking along her neck and ear. She was panting, delirious, one of her hands clutched at the bed spread as the other grasped at his shoulder.

His own arousal was uncontrollable, his mind completely fogged by nothing but thoughts of taking Mary and making love to her. He was crying out in both frustration and ecstasy. "Oh, fu…!" He bit off the word before finishing it.

The sound of his voice uttering the word he cut off sent her over the edge. Mary's head snapped back on to the pillow, her eyes closed, and she arched her whole body hard against him. His mouth went over hers, smothering her scream as she released, her body shuddering and trembling in his arms. He kissed her and his hand kept moving, lovingly and in a tender constant motion.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, and she opened her eyes to look up at him, trying to catch up with herself but feeling another burning coil unwinding inside of her at the touch of his hands. His beautiful smoldering blue eyes were drilled in to hers. "Oh, God, Matthew…" she was panting again, gasping for breath.

"Let me make you come again…" His voiuce shuddered heavily, pleading with her. His body was shaking, his hair over his forehead.

"Oh, God," She breathed out as he kissed her again and she began to come in his mouth once more.

And then her body went rigid again, her arms went around his neck as she clung to him, sobbing in another agonizing release, pulsing through her body, holding herself to him. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Her eyes shut as spasms rocked her. She felt herself losing consciousness as some sort of sleep or daze was overtaking her.

He was panting himself trying to catch his breath. He lay down beside her, rolling on to his back, and pulled her to his side. She curled in to him, sighing. Their breathing slowed and they finally came back to themselves.

Her face was tucked in his neck. "Oh, Matthew…."

He was still slightly dazed but laughed and wanted to tease her back to herself. He whispered in to her ear. "You've been saying that now for over an hour, sweetheart."

One of her hands playfully slapped at him and he smiled and hugged her. She kissed his cheek. "It was so wonderful." She was breathing almost normal again. "Thank you for loving me."

"I think it has been you, dear Mary, who has been loving me these past few months." His fingers reached under her chin and lifted her eyes to look at him. Her large brown eyes were moist, dreamy and drowsy. She was sleepy and sated, and he had satisfied her in a physical and emotional way that surprised both of them. In doing so, he had found his own satisfaction in the process. It was new and different but it made him feel happy as he never thought possible again. Yet, he found it with Mary. Perhaps he would be willing to be an obstacle to Mary's engagement to Carlisle after all?

"Maybe people can learn to dance in a different way, can't they?" He kissed her hair.

She gave him a warm, engaging, loving smile. "Yes. I have a whole book on it."

"Well, then," he whispered as they drifted off to sleep, "We shall have to read it together."

Fin!


	3. Chapter 3

The following day, Matthew and Mary drove across the estate together. They sat under an oak tree, by a pond, shaded from the warm afternoon sun. His wheelchair was off to the side, and the great house loomed off in the distance. Mary had asked Mrs. Patmore to pack a luncheon. They had spread a red plaid blanket out, and Matthew sat with his backup against the tree, wearing dark trousers, a white shirt and necktie, with the sleeves rolled up. Mary knelt across from him in a grey cotton dress, her hands rummaging around in the picnic basket, slightly awkward around him after the previous evening.

"You are becoming quite efficient at getting in and out of the chair and the car, Matthew." She said it as though they were discussing politics, something he should have an opinion on. She never wanted to sound like a care-taker, nor did he want one.

"Mmmm, well, it has to do with all of our activities around the house and the estate." He looked over at her and smiled. "You are a relentless partner, Mary, but it is a partnership I value—one between a man and an equal, and not a nanny to a boy." His tone became sweetly appreciative. "Thank you."

She smiled at him. "I want it to go on record that you have classified me as an equal."

Matthew fiddled with the large text book in his lap. His eyes stared down at the title and he read aloud from the cover. "_The Royal College of Medicine -_ _Living with Paralysis: Men and Sensuality," _he exhaled, shaking his head, speaking sarcastically. "There's a laugh."

"You haven't even read a single word of that book, and you are already denouncing it?" She tilted her head and gave him a soft smile as she chided him. "You promised. Remember, this is research."

Matthew glanced up at her, his blue eyes glittering with patience and understanding, but a hint of frustration was there. He would indulge her anything, and after the night before he was truthfully curious to learn more about suggestions that might help him lead a meaningful life from a wheelchair. "Yes, yes, I know." He sighed as he cracked the book open and began flipping through its pages.

Mary watched him out of the corner of her eye, pretending to arrange luncheon items.

He abruptly stopped on one section, holding the book open, his eyes fixated. Slowly, he turned the book sideways and angled his head to gain a better view of the page. His eyes widened. He looked at her and spoke in slight surprise. "You said you have read through this book, Mary?"

"I saw everything, yes." She pulled out a jar of pickles from the basket, trying to keep the awkward topic of conversation light. "Pickle with your sandwich?"

His subtle astonishment was not hidden. "You weren't somewhat shocked by this?"

"Matthew, for over a year Downton has been full of men recovering from the most horrible and unimaginable war injuries. One book on how to manage a more independent and fulfilling life, which happens to have a few slightly graphic sketches, is hardly shocking in comparison. If anything, I think it's a helpful resource." She was matter of fact, setting plates, jars and packed food items on the blanket.

He was still staring at her. "_Slightly_ graphic sketches?" He sounded amused. "Mary, the couple on this page is in a position that I would…"

"You would what?" She bit in to a strawberry and poured lemonade in to two glasses.

"Well, they are engaged in…" his voice broke off. He watched as some of the pink strawberry juice glistened from her lip, which her tongue slowly licked away. Fleetingly, he remembered the feel of her tongue on his lips the night before. He cleared his throat and spoke quietly, as though other people might hear him. "…something that would occur between a man and a…._lady_ _of the evening_, so to speak."

Matthew looked back down at the image. It was a black and white artist's sketch of a man, lying down on his back, with a woman kneeling over his face, her private area clearly exposed over his mouth. The man's hands curved up the woman's torso, touching her breasts. The woman's head was back, her long hair down her back. He thought it was erotic and arousing, but surely a well bred woman would never consider such thing, even with her husband.

She huffed out a little laugh. "Well, I think they look like two people in love who have found a way to share marital relations despite a physical challenge." She raised a glass of lemonade in his direction. "Not unlike the military operations you handled so brilliantly in France, I should think." She was still holding the glass out to him.

He looked at her, puzzled, and took the glass. "Am I to understand that you are comparing my military command in the Army to the marital relations depicted in this book?" It was laughable.

She took a sip of the cold lemonade and nodded. "Well, if you had a mission objective that was suddenly confronted by an obstacle what you would do?"

Matthew straightened his posture, answering confidently. "Figure a way round it, of course."

"Precisely." She was profunct, nodded, and took another sip from the lemonade. "How is that couple any different? He is unable to move from the waist down so they have found a way round it, so they can still love each other in a meaningful and intimate way." Mary finished her point by putting a pickle in her mouth and crunching a bite from it.

Matthew blinked back at her and chuckled. God he loved her, he thought. Shaking his head, he took a sip of lemonade, and turned his attention back to the book. "Well, I'm not sure this would classify as research."

Mary smiled over at him. "You mean, unlike that girl you said you were caught with in the library at Oxford? You said that you told the chancellor that was research." One of her eyebrows went up.

He looked up at her surprised. "How did you…?"

"You had too much brandy at Christmas a few years ago and divulged something about a near suspension over it."

He laughed at the memory. "Yes, well, that was most certainly research." He laughed again and then spoke to himself under his breath, his eyes back on the pages. "Lots of research as I recall."

_Lucky girl_, Mary thought as she arranged fruit and cheese on their plates.

"It's all just so very impersonal, I suppose." Matthew took a bite of cheese and sipped his drink some more, wiping his brow with his sleeve.

"You mean everything?" Her voice was gentle and understanding.

He looked off at the pond. "It's just that…"

"Yes..?"

He sighed. "It's just a little embarrassing to have everyone around me, from Clarkson to Cousin Cora, aware of every granular aspect of my personal physical status and bathroom habits." He looked down in to his glass.

"I'm sorry. I know you've been under the microscope." She looked at him and loved the way streaks of sun peeked through the leaves of the tree and shined in his hair. His recovery was working and she was mesmerized by his wonderful character and bravery. He was a proud and dignified man and she knew he felt vulnerable and frustrated, a position he was unaccustomed to.

She took a bite of her sandwich and thought for a moment, wanting to help. "How about if I share something private with you to equal the playing field? I know it's silly, but it might help." She shrugged at her suggestion.

He looked at her lightly exasperated. "Honestly, Mary, what could you possibly share that is remotely as personal as impotence?" He smiled, realizing the absurdity and humor in his comment. But he knew she was earnest.

She watched as he reached down and picked up her sandwich and took a bite, his tongue slicking away a dab of Dijon mustard from his lower lip. Her eyes were temporarily frozen at the sight of his wet tongue lapping his lip. She secretly thought about telling him about Mr. Pamuk, but thought better of it. Another time. She looked around, thinking, and suddenly it came to her. "Well," she spoke in a near whisper, "my monthly lady routine begins on the first day of every month."

The words drifted on the summer air across to him. He stopped chewing, raised his brows, nodding and pressed his lips together, taking in her sweet confession. Truthfully, he had always wondered about it.

"Well?" she asked, looking for his validation of her secret. "I've never discussed that with any other living person other than my mother!" She touched her napkin to her lips. "Come to think of it, I haven't even spoken of it with her since I was fifteen."

Matthew crunched a pickle. "I was just doing the calculation."

"Calculation?" She was aghast. "Of what?"

He took a sip of lemonade. "Your conception window."

Mary looked at him with her mouth open. "My _what_?"

"Well," he started, dabbing a white linen napkin against his mouth, "you said your monthly lady routine, as you discreetly call it, commences the first day of the month. And today is the fourteenth day of this month. So, technically, you are in the midst of the conception window."

She blinked back at him, awkwardly. "How did you...?"

"My father was surgeon, Mary, and my mother a charge nurse. I grew up leaning all about human physiology." He flipped several pages of the book again. "So, you are currently in that fertile window, in which your body has a…" He thought about his wording with her, "…a little flower nestled in it, waiting to be pollinated."

She smiled a little bashfully at him and chuckled. Her hand subconsciously touched her stomach.

He looked downward at her hand, speaking under his breath. "But I supposed that's something Carlisle would know."

"Richard? Good, God, why would I ever confide something like that to him?"

Matthew watched her. Mary's remark revealed she had not consummated her relationship with Carlisle, another thing he had wondered about. He hated Carlisle and felt smugly happy. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

She blushed. "Oh, it's alright." She sighed and smoothed her skirt. "It's nothing compared to what you have endured, but I do have a better appreciation of it all." She stretched out next to him, leaning back on her hands, crossing her legs. She watched him as he perused the book and they enjoyed the sunshine.

"You know, there's a section in the book about something called delayed gratification." She shared it nonchalantly, as thought it was a good restaurant tip.

He gave her comment a moment of thought. "Huh…" He was matter of fact.

"It involves sitting very close together but not touching for an extended period of time. It intensifies the level of intimacy and sensation for both individuals. And something about emotional gratification that can mimic the physical response." She sat up, turned to face him. She looked at him sweetly. "Why don't we try?"

He tipped his head to one side. "I know it won't be the same, but I'm willing to learn." He gazed at her, intrigued.


	4. Chapter 4

Placing a knee one either side of his hips, Mary carefully sat in his lap, His hands helping her to find the right spot. Facing him, she placed her hands on his face, letting her fingers drift over his features. His eyes looked in to hers, and then slipped shut, enjoying the feel of her touch.

He leaned forward to kiss her, but Mary inched her head back just out of his reach. His hands slid up her sides and over her rib cage, sliding along the material of her blouse, just under her breasts, but she gently nudged them back down to his sides. She could hear the soft groan in his chest.

"We're not supposed to touch," she whispered.

His expression revealed a hint of pleasant frustration, but he saw where this exercise was going, so he complied. His hands were at his sides, his palms in the grass.

Mary leaned forward carefully. Their eyes continued to look deeply in to each other, and their mouths were so close their breaths intermingled, but did not touch. She licked her lips and Matthew bent his head to touch his lips to hers, but she withdrew ever so slightly. A subtle moan left his throat and she giggled softly.

He breathed out heavily. "Are you mocking me?"

She shook her head. "No talking either."

"Honestly, Mary, this is redic…" he was cut off when she adjusted her sitting position by pushing up on her knees, situating her chest just in front of his eyes. His head fell back against the tree and he could see her camisole slightly through the light summer fabric of her blouse. Several buttons had come undone and he could see her skin and the gentle slope of her bust. She smelled like summer laundry from the clothes line and rose water. He suddenly felt intoxicated.

She sat back down again gently, letting out a breath, and her eyes caught his again. She saw that the usually light blue color of his eyes had turned dark, like sapphires. He was breathing heavier, and she realized she was, too.

Mary's fingers reached up to the knot of his necktie and began to slowly loosen it. He swallowed thickly and the movement of his throat tickled her hands. She pulled the not loose, and slipped the silk tie free, pulling it from the collar of his shirt. She unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt. "Cooler?" She posed the question just loud enough for him to hear it, and bent forward and placed a kiss on his neck.

"Yes." His voice was a whisper.

Her fingers slid through his hair and he hummed at her touch. Gently pulling her hands away from him, he regretted the loss of her touch but she began to unfasten the buttons of her blouse. Matthew's eyes were transfixed on her fingers as they moved down the front of her blouse, pulling it open. She slid the garment over her shoulders and off, revealing her light pink camisole. His eyes roved over her front and he could see that the breeze caused her nipples to harden, pushing against the pink satin. He licked his lips, his eyes looking back up at hers and then down again. She watched him as her hands moved up and her fingers delicately traced the outline of her nipples, teasing them for him.

"Mary," he moaned heavily, his eye lids hooded. He leaned his face forward again to brush her lips with a kiss, and she pulled back. "God," he breathed out.

She finally spoke in a hushed voice. "Do you like what you see?"

He was so aroused he could barely speak let alone see. He was panting. "Yes,…" His hands were still beside him and his fingers fisted in the grass.

"One kiss," she granted him, a smile playing at the concerns of her mouth.

He leaned forward, but her hand went to his chest stopping him. "Just one little, light kiss, and nothing more, alright?" Her eye's held his. "That's what the book instructs."

His chest was rising and falling. "Yes…and I hate the book."

She chuckled and moved her hand away, so he could lean forward. They paused, their faces barely touching. Mary held still and let him brush his lips against hers. He angled his head, moving it back and forth, brushing their mouths together. She held her breath and his soft lips tentatively touched her ever so lightly, and he moaned against her. He pressed his mouth to hers more firmly for several seconds and she felt her heart swell with emotion and heat. He tasted like lemonade and brie. It was her turn to moan, reveling in it. Then she leaned back again, just out of reach.

They were both exhaling, short of breath. She leaned forward, and her head slowly dropped to his neck, where his shirt collar gaped open, and her mouth sought his neck, her lips parted, and she grazed her lips tenderly along the skin. Matthew's head fell back and he groaned openly. "Mary, please…for God's sake."

She placed moist kisses with her lips and tongue until she reached his ear lobe, letting her breath caress it. "Please, what?"

He tried to kiss her cheek with his mouth but she moved her head away.

"Let me make love to you." His voice was raged, and pleading. His hands reached for her skirt at her hips and fisted the fabric, pulling her toward him. He opened his mouth, wanting her.

Mary looked at him, lifting her hands to her hair combs, pulling them out, one by one. "Should we lay down?"

He was beyond speech as he watched her let her hair down. "Yes." He leaned to the side on his hands, staying on their blanket, to lay down. She was still sitting up, on top of him, her hair now falling down around her shoulders. He tentatively reached a hand to her face and brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushed it open, running her hands over his chest and down around his waist. Her fingers worked the button of his trousers and she began placing warm kisses on his chest. Gradually, she kissed down to his middle, her fingers caressing his body, and then kissed path to his abdomen. She pushed his trousers open, her mouth poised just above him. "Tell me if you can feel this." Her breath was a whisper against his skin as she delicately touched her tongue to his belly button.

"Yes!" he gasped, and chuckled, as he felt the sensation, his fingers slipping in to her hair, and his head rolled to one side. His eyes opened and he looked up at the blue sky, feeling her mouth on his body. He had fantasized about this a thousand times—a million times—and now it was happening, just in a different way than he ever dreamed it would.

She traced her tongue around him and further down, kissing him hotly. She used her fingers to carefully unbuttoning waist band of his under clothing, opening and pushing his pants slightly over his hips. She could see hints of his blond body hair on his lower abdomen. "And can you feel this?" She trailed wet kisses on his lower body.

His back arched, awkwardly, but it still moved up.

Mary knew that was where his feeling stopped so she moved slowly upward again. Looking down at him, she lifted her camisole over head, lifting it off, casting it aside. He looked at her in a state of total and complete arousal. His lips parted, his breathing rapid, taking in deep breaths. His hands reached up to caress her breasts, his fingers lightly grazing them, and her head fell back on her neck. Recalling the images from the book, Mary leaned forward so that her breasts were over his mouth. He groaned and licked and teased one nipple in to his mouth, and then sucked it hard. She moaned at the sensation, her hips reflexively grinding against him.

Her arms cradled his head. He moaned and his body was shaking with need as his mouth moved to the other breast. Licking and sucking sounds, mingled with his moans, floated up around them. His hands went to the button of her skirt and pulled it open. She smiled at how efficiently he accomplished the task. She unzipped the skirt and tugged it upward, over her head.

She sat back up again and Matthew was looking up at her. His face was flush, his lips swollen and red from kissing her. His hair was in disarray and he was panting with need. He was a beautiful God.

His hands reached between her legs and he groaned when he felt her hot wetness there. Her eyes rolled in to her head and closed languidly at the feel of his touch against her. Her head fell back. He watched her as he slid his fingers along the inside of her under garment. His fingers were coated with her desire and he groaned up at her.

He nudged her hips upward with his hands and she complied, leaning forward, crawling, sharing a deep open mouthed kiss with him on her way, and carefully moving until she was positioned over his mouth. She could feel his hands smoothing over and around her, and reaching for her center, pushing the satin fabric aside so his tongue could find her. He gently pulled her hips down, until his mouth touched her.

"Uuugh, God!" Mary cried out at the feel of his warm, wet lips. He swirled his slick tongue around her folds, and then up in to her, and then over her mound. Her hips jerked making their contact even more intense. She cried out again, muttering little cries of worship to him and his caresses. She was so aroused her heart was pounding and fluttering, her chest heaving. His hands reached up to fondle her nipples and she was in the throws of passion. Her hair swung with the movement of her body. He moved his head between her legs and moaned up in to her, his teeth grazed her clitoris and she exploded in ecstasy.

"Matthew!" She screamed out, her body shaking above his. The vibrations rippled through her, she shook with her release, dripping in to his mouth, and shuddering. The summer breeze was all around them and she panted trying to cool off, slowing her hips and movements. She moved to lay back down against him, his hands reaching up to help steady her and guide her down to him. She was panting against him and he pulled her to his mouth for a long, hot, deep kiss. His tongue was in her mouth, and she ground herself against him. They moaned in to each other and she kissed and sucked his lips and tongue. His hands were all over her body, pulling her to him, feeling her.

She began grinding in to his abdomen, where she knew he would feel her, rubbing her wet center against him, her desire so piqued she began to shake again with another climax.

"I love you, Matthew," she shuddered out as she looked down at him, their eyes locked as she rode out her orgasm. He was unable to hold back whatever was coiled inside of him. His head went back and she began to feel something coursing and shaking through him. His eyes were tightly shut, his mouth open, he rolled back in to the blanket. His upper body twisted, holding her against him. "Oh, Christ, Mary!"

Her hips continued to move, rubbing her whole body up and down against him. She could feel his heart beating, his cries of ecstasy all around them. Suddenly she felt him tense, his teeth clenched and he cried out.

Fleetingly, she worried something was wrong. But then felt him pant again, exhaling some sort of release. She had read in the book about emotional climaxes, and reflexive erections. But for now she would not ask. He had been examined enough. For this, he needed to be the man that she knew him to be. So she held him, her arms going up and around his shoulders, spreading herself out over him, protectively and lovingly connected to him, dropping little kisses to his cheeks and eyelids.

His breathing was returning to normal, and hands moved warmly up and down her back. He hummed affectionately. "Oh, Mary…"

His voice was sweet. She almost cried that they could share something like this. She stretched out beside him, her arm over his chest, her fingers brushing the damp hair from his forehead. His eyes were still closed as he collected himself.

He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. They shared a gentle smile, and using his arms he worked to turn sideways to lay with her, reaching down to his leg to help himself turn fully, something he had been practicing.

She spoke quietly. "You've become very efficient at that, Matthew."

"Which part?" His eyes and sleepy voice were teasing her.

She laughed. "Turning on your side without assistance, silly." She ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh," he said playfully mocking her, looking in to her dark brown eyes, "I was hoping you were referring to the other thing." He brushed his nose against hers and kissed her.

"That, too," she whispered against his lips.

"As I said," he murmured to her in his deep sex-filled voice. "You are a relentless partner." He brushed strands of her hair way from her flushed cheeks. "My partner."

Mary nuzzled in to him, drifting off to sleep in his arms. "Still hate the book?"

He laughed in to her hair. "If it doesn't kill me first."


	5. Chapter 5

Matthew sat in his bedroom, looking out the large window, watching twilight fall across the grounds of Downton. He was dressed for dinner in his black dinner jackete. _P Gordon_, he thought. Whoever the devil the man really was, his presence and his story of being the heir had caused anxiety across the family. As far as Matthew was concerned, the possibility that another heir had resurfaced, presented a remedy to his situation. As a cripple, he mused, he would be a laughing stock as the Earl of Downton Abbey. He would be a joke. He sighed, running one of hands over his brow in consternation.

"May I come in?" Robert's voice pulled him back to the present.

Matthew turned, using his hands to manipulate the wheel chair slightly, toward Robert, who was peering around the door that had been ajar. "Yes, of course!" He tried to brighten his tone and disposition. Robert was always a welcome sight.

Robert walked toward the window. "I was just heading in for dinner and thought I'd stop by to see if you were joining us. I'm so glad to see that you are." Robert's large, warm hand pressed affectionately on Matthew's shoulder.

Matthew nodded in appreciation. "Thank you."

"And, I wanted to talk with you about what you said earlier this afternoon."

"Oh?" Matthew tried to sound interested, but his interest in the entail these days had waned. "What about?"

Robert pulled a chair over from the corner and sat down. "You said that it would take a man bigger than you to fill my shoes at Downton."

Matthew regarded him as best he could, but he knew the words had hurt Robert. "Well it's the truth, I'm afraid." He looked at the floor, unable to face Robert's attention.

"The hell it is!"

Robert's stern tone was cutting and Matthew's stare snapped back up again. "Robert, I know you mean well, but you must understand. I'll never be able to do things as you do. And I'll never be able to have children."

"No! _You_ must understand!" The sound of his voice had become elevated, and Robert smoothed his hand over the front of his dress shirt, composing himself again. "You are one of the most outstanding men I have ever had the privilege of knowing. You are an asset to your parents, your family and to yourself. And I cannot think of a more well-suited gentleman to be poised for this position." He paused, sighing.

"Robert, I…"

"I'm not finished." Robert's voice was firm and he straightened up further in the chair. "Furthermore, Cora and I could not possibly have asked for a finer young man for us to…" he paused, his voice softening, "…to think of as…" His voice revealed the emotion he felt. "Well, we have three lovely daughters, but our family was not to include a son. But we've come to feel we have one now."

Matthew's heart warmed at Robert's sentiment toward him. He thought back to the loss of his own father, thinking he would never share a father's love again. But he had been wrong. He had loved his father, and he only now realized the extent that he loved Robert in the same way. "Robert, I cannot tell you how deeply I appreciate everything that you and Cousin Cora have done for me and…"

"And another thing," Robert crossed one leg over the knee of the other as he spoke. "I don't give a damn about the entail or Mr. P Gordon, or whoever the hell he is. You are my heir and one of my children." The Earl pulled his black vest down and took a breath. "The only thing that matters is your full recovery and well being."

Matthew sat back in his wheel chair, regarding him. "It's very kind of you to say." He exhaled and smiled. "I'm not sure cousin Cora would agree—I think she feels I've been monopolizing Mary's time, and I suppose she is right."

Robert stood. "Oh, don't worry about Cora. She loves Mary and she loves you. She just wants what's best for both of you, and I'm afraid sometimes that means she meddles."

"You mean that's why Sir Richard is returning this evening?" Matthew huffed out a laugh.

"Yes, afraid so." He exhaled slightly exasperated. "He's purchasing Haxby. He is acquiring the house just as he is acquiring my daughter. Mary will become an object that he'll dangle in front of people, like his diamond pocket watch." Robert looked out the window, lost in the sunset and thought. "And after he and Mary have produced one or two children—the thought of which breaks my heart—Carlisle will busy himself between London and New York building his empire, leaving Mary all alone in that huge house, and without the love of a good man."

Matthew sat up and leaned forward, saddened by Robert's premonition. "I had no idea you felt this way."

"Well, I do." He sighed. "But I take consolation in the thought that Mary will always have a friend and a partner here, in you." He looked back at Matthew. "You said you will never have children, but I suspect you are wrong. There will be small children in your future, with brown hair and brown eyes, who will dash around the grounds of Downton, looking for a father." He paused. "And it comforts me to know that they will run in to you."

Matthew smiled. The thought of Mary's children, and of her, being in his life made his heart swell. There are all kinds of families, Matthew thought, and perhaps he would be destined to have one after all.

* * *

Carson was walking through the great hall, taking a last look around the main floor prior to the dinner hour. He stopped to switch on one of the table lamps in the hallway, and was distracted by something that sounded like crying.

Tentatively, quietly, he stepped closer to the doorway to the library. Looking in, around the door, he saw Mary, sitting on the red divan, wearing a red evening gown.

"Lady Mary?" He crossed the room to her. "May I be of service?"

"What?" She looked at him, revealing her red and wet eyes. "Oh, Carson, I'm afraid you caught me a bit out of sorts." She blew her nose in her handkerchief.

Carson reached in to his breast pocket and pulled out a crisp white pocket square and gently extended it to her. His expression softened as he looked down at her.

"Thank you, Carson," Mary said, taking the handkerchief, and shaking it open.

"Oh, my Lady…" Carson's voice was deep and tender. "Would this have something to do with Sir Richard returning this evening?"

She sniffled in to the handkerchief, nodding. "Oh, Carson…I thought I knew what I wanted, but now I don't know anymore."

Carson clasped his hands behind his back. "May I say something, my lady?"

She looked up at him nodding, dabbing the white linen to her eyes.

"I offered you some advice some time ago and although it is none of my business as to what your decision was, but I speculate to say that your heart does know what it wants, as it did then."

She held the butler's warm gaze. "Yes…"

"I think Captain Crawley is making a splendid recovery, thanks in no small part to your support and…well your comfort to him." He held his hand out to her and she reached up and took it, gliding up to stand beside him.

Mary sighed frustratingly. "But, Sir Richard is returning tonight, a full month sooner than originally planned."

Carson could tell that she felt defeated. "And did you decide to tell Captain Crawley what was in your heart after all?"

She looked at him, her wet eyes starting to weep again. "Yes…yes I have. But now Richard is coming back and there is this P. Gordon person….oh, God."

As her voice crumbled and she began to sob, Carson's hands touched her arms and pulled her to him. Her head fell on to his shoulder as she cried and sniffled. Carson's hand smoothed over her back. "So, perhaps now it is time for another decision?"

Mary sniffed, catching her breath. "How do you mean?"

"What I mean, my Lady, is that if you have shared the truth with Captain Crawley, then perhaps you have reached another fork in the road, and it would be appropriate to consider a different arrangement with Mr. Carlisle?"

She looked up at him, smiling. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

His hands smoothed the fabric of the sleeves of her dress, straightening her up again. "No, no, I think everything can turn out just fine. The heart is often beyond or control. What can I do to help?"

Mary smiled, her eyes dryer now. "You've already done it, Carson. As usual, you save me from myself." She looked up at him, her tears replaced with gratitude and affection.

He patted her arm. "I'm always here for you, my Lady."

"And I for you, Carson. Thank you and I will give your thought some consideration." Mary's voice was soft and genuine and she stood up on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.

Carson paused. "One more thing, Lady Mary."

"Yes?"

"Should the fork in the road lead you to Crawley House, I would just like you to know that I would consider it an honor to assist you and Captain Crawley in any capacity." He looked at her with gentle kindness and polished attention.

Mary smiled. "Oh, Mr. Carson," her hand rubbed his shoulder, "Thank you for your kindness and generosity to me."

Carson smiled and nodded. "Thank you, my Lady." He glanced down at his wrist watch. "Well then, I should make a final check of the dining table. If you will excuse me, Lady Mary." He bowed his head, and stepped away toward the dining room.

Mary gave her nose one final pat with the handkerchief and looked up at the mantle clock. The time was six o'clock.

"Did I just hear Carson extend an offer to transfer to Crawley House?"

The gentleman's voice startled her and she turned around to find Matthew in his wheelchair, their book in his lap.


	6. Chapter 6

Mary clenched the handkerchief in her hand, nervously smoothing the other hand over the front of her dress. "Matthew!"

His hands slid over the wheels of the wheel chair, his arms bent, effortlessly gliding the chair across the room. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."

"Not at all," she said slightly breathless, a hand going up to touch her hair.

"I just thought that with an hour to spare before dinner I might get in some reading." His fingers tapped the medical text in his lap. "Putting aside the more _stimulating_ chapters we have been, shall we say, preoccupied with…"

Mary blushed and gave him a knowing smile and sat down at the end of divan, leaning on the rounded arm. "Do I detect a regret?"

He spoke under his breath. "Uh, I believe you clearly know the answer to that." He smiled, "but…there are some other sections that cover personal habits, household configurations and so forth. I think it's quite helpful, actually." Matthew came to a stop near the divan. He loved his friendship with her as much as he loved the woman.

"I'm glad to hear it." She was always glad whenever she was with him. As she looked at him she realized how handsome he looked. Even recovering from his ordeal and seated in a wheelchair, his character and perseverance illuminated him.

He took a breath and glanced at his watch. "Would you like a drink before dinner? I think I'll have one." The table beside him had a tray with a decanter and four glasses.

"Would you mind if I just had a sip of yours?" It had become a little habit of theirs.

He smiled at her. "Of course not." Holding the decanter, he smoothly lifted the stopper and gently splashed an ounce of whiskey in to the crystal glass, which he held over to her. He maneuvered the chair to the end of the divan, facing in the opposite direction Mary was, so they were face to face at the arm of the red sofa.

Mary took a sip. "Mmmmm, that's nice." The amber liquid warmed her all over.

"You know your pa-pa, he likes the good stuff." He laughed, taking a sip himself, and humming softly at the delectable taste. "What were you and Carson talking about?"

Mary straightened her head up. "Oh, he was just brightening me up a bit."

"You always look bright to me," he admitted tenderly. The red gown she was wearing was one of his favorites—he loved her in red. He tilted his head, his aqua eyes glittering at her. "I presume you were discussing Richard's return this evening?"

She sighed, "Yes. He's coming back from London early. I can't figure out why, except that I know he is eager to close the deed on Haxby."

Matthew looked in to the glass for a moment and then back at her. "He can give you the life you should have, Mary. " He looked at her seriously and warmly. His voice was filled with purpose and compassion. "An elegant grand house, a life you are accustomed to….and children."

She looked at him and they held each other's eyes for several seconds. "I'm no longer sure that's what a woman like me really wants." She sounded sad.

Matthew thought intently as they gazed at each other. "I've come to believe that life is not about what we want to do…" His finger tapped the side of the glass. "…but rather, what we should do."

She felt his message clear through to her heart and she felt several pieces of it crumble off. Sighing, she reached over and gently took the glass from his hand, their fingers brushing against each other. As she took another sip of whiskey, she looked at him from under her eye lashes.

Matthew watched her, feeling his pulse quicken. Her lovely brown eyes were dark, like pieces of coal, and in the evening light they sparkled. As she lowered the glass from her mouth, traces of amber whiskey glistened on her lips. It was so easy, he thought, the connection between them. It took almost nothing for him to desire her; for them to want each other. No wonder the things they had shared from the book came so easy to them.

Mary handed the glass back to him and his fingers caressed her hand, and they were suddenly leaning toward each other. Her eyes closed at his touch. When she opened them again his face was only inches away from hers. He raised a finger and gently touched her lip, rimming his fingertip along her lower lip. Her eyes slipped closed and she breathed in at his touch. He smelled wonderful, like leather and vanilla. The feel of his finger on her mouth was sending a current through her body. She felt light headed and suspended, as though they could float away together on this moment.

Mary slowly opened her eyes. His mouth was so near, his head tilted, and his hand warmly slid over her cheek. She felt flushed and dizzy, and reached her hand out toward him.

"Mary?" Cora's voice broke the quiet. The spell of the moment shattered.

Matthew pulled away, clearing his throat. Mary blinked her eyes. They both turned to see Cora standing at the far side of the library.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, truly I am," Cora's voice was pleasant and cheerful. She was wearing a black velvet evening gown, her hands clasped at her front.

Matthew detected that she clearly wanted to interrupt them as he straightened back up in the chair. He cared for Cora, but he knew that her motives were ulterior when it came to her daughters and marriage. Women, he thought, had so few entitlements when it came to commerce and inheritance; he supposed it was the job of all mothers to ensure their daughters would have suitable and secure futures. But love, unfortunately, was optional.

"Mary, could I trouble you to give me a hand with something in the dining room before Sir Richard arrives?" Cora remained standing. Waiting.

"Yes, of course, Ma-ma." Mary exhaled and stood up in one fluid motion. She looked at him. He was her friend, her partner, and her lover- and she knew she would never feel that way about any other man in her life. "Thank you for sharing the drink, Matthew."

"Of course." He nodded, his eyes softly regarding her.

"And thank you for the advice…about things we should do." She looked at him a little sadly and then headed in the direction of her mother.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sir Richard said you would be expecting me, but are you?" Lavinia had just arrived in the dining room, still wearing her traveling clothes, a cream dress with a brown hat and coat, slightly breathless. She had hastily arrived with Richard Carlisle, who had seen to her transportation to Downton that very evening.

Mary stood, speechless. She quickly glanced over to Matthew, to catch his reaction. His expression spoke volumes-he was stunned and embarrassed. He glanced over at Lavinia and Carlisle and then back at the table.

"Of course we're expecting you." Cora was the only one in the room who knew Lavinia would be arriving and she was eager to welcome an alternative companion for Matthew.

At Cora's urging, Lavinia wheeled Matthew in to the small library. "Nothing's changed," he told her, his tone was polite and firm, but he was bereft.

"But you see," she implored him, "It has. _I've_ changed." She stopped in front of the fire place, which cast a glow over both of them, and knelt down beside him. "When I was last here, I was so bowled over that I let you send me away." She paused. "But not this time. I love you. And I'm going to look after you-that's all there is to it." She was adamant, smiling, her large blue eyes putting a fine point on her position through their intense gaze at him. She loved him.

Matthew looked at her and then stared away in to the fire; lost. He felt captured. No discussion, no warning, no preamble to his preference. Someone had summoned Lavinia, and here she was, making it clear that she would be his nurse maid for life. Staring in to the flames, he understood why the large big game cats at the London zoo paced back and forth in their habitats-someone wheeled them in there, and locked the door behind them. Like them, he felt caged…he ached to stand up on his own feet and take his life back. The wheel chair, which Mary had helped him envision the possibility of a meaningful life in, now was a symbol of his infertility and loss of empowerment.

"And if I refuse?" He could hardly believe he had to beg the question. Suddenly he no longer had options or choices. His eyes were dead. The light that had illuminated him from within was being extinguished.

"I'm sorry but I mean it." Lavinia's sweet smile was comforting. She meant what she said from her heart, and he knew it. "You won't frighten me away this time."

And to that, he said nothing. He was resigned. It wasn't that he didn't love Lavinia, because he did. The war hastened so many things, including their engagement. But in the impending light of the armistice, he could see that he was not _in love_ with her. And he also knew none of this was Lavinia's fault.

* * *

Richard Carlisle walked briskly with Mary along the great hall, just off the entry way. Mary was trying to keep up with him. "Suppose he doesn't want her back, have you thought of that!" She tried to conceal the pain and angst in her voice.

Richard disregarded her, his footsteps falling firm and heavy; he hadn't taken his top coat off. "Matthew needs someone to watch over him."

"Yes, but," she tried to make a point of it somehow. She knew this was Carlisle's doing. She was trying to keep up with him, panting.

"And you'll be too busy with our new life, won't you?" Carlisle turned to look at her sideways.

Her life was crashing down around her. Matthew was being taken away. And Carson, who had happily offered to transition to Crawley House should the occasion arise, was now in an embarrassing predicament because Richard had asked him to work at Haxby.

Mary felt herself drowning, trying to stay above water, choking and losing the world around her. "Look," she began to protest to Richard, trying to keep her voice steady, "I know you're used to having your way but…"

Suddenly he was on her. Carlisle grabbed her arms, squeezing them tight and hard, shoving her backward until her back was pushed up against the cold granite wall. 'Yes I am!" He was clenching his teeth, his voice tight and threatening, "And I'll say something else that I hope I won't ever have to repeat! If you think you can jilt me, or in some way set me aside, I tell you now you are dealing with the power to destroy you!" His eyes were like steel, cutting her, his face harsh and terrorizing. "And don't think I won't use it."

Mary's heart was racing in panic. Oh, God, unable to breath, she was being assaulted-ripped open. His eyes had no light or reflection, like a serpent.

Richard stopped to take a breath, still holding his grip on her. "I want to be a good husband, and for you to be happy…but don't ever cross me, do you understand? Never…._ever_…" Gripping Mary, he leaned toward her, forcefully, pressing his mouth against hers in a cold and detached kiss, pressing against her for several moments. He pulled back, issuing his final demand. "…absolutely never."

And he was gone, walking back down the corridor towards the staircase and his room.

Mary stood still against the stone column, her hands trembling. The kiss had suffocated her. She could feel her heart freezing over. She felt if she cried, tiny snowflakes would fall from her eyes. She closed her eyes, feeling the memory of Matthew's kisses-lost forever to her. Slowly, wet tears began to trickle down her cheeks.

* * *

Lavinia wheeled Matthew in to his bedroom quarters in the house. He rubbed his brow with his hand. "Thank you," he said, "I think I can manage from here."

Lavinia stood, smiling back at him lightheartedly, glancing around the room. "This room is like you. Elegent, yet simple and sensible."

_Simple and sensible_, he thought. Yes, those words would capture how he felt.

"What's this?" Her attention had been caught buy something across the room. She stepped over to the desk, and saw the text book sitting on top. She read the title out loud, her voice soft and deep. "_The Royal College of Medicine – Living with Paralysis: Men and Sensuality." _She looked over at Matthew. "May I?" She grinned and pointed her finger, gesturing to pick up the book.

"Yes, of course." Matthew sat up straighter in the chair, which was now slicing in to his back. He watched as Lavinia flipped through the pages. He saw how her eyes widened, and her brows arched.

He watched her from under his brow, curious as to how she would react. She said she wouldn't be frightened away—well, here was her chance to prove it.

"Oh, my," she breathed out the words. Her eyes snapped back over to Matthew. "This is quite pornographic, isn't it? Where did you get it?" She was clearly awkward, which he thought was rather sweet. It was one of the things that had endeared him to her.

He cleared his throat, tring to lighten his tone. "Well, actually, it was checked out from the library in Ripon."

"By Mary?" The possibility shocked her.

"No!" he laughed nervously, "Of course not." He ran a finger along the inside of his collar. "Dr. Clarkson suggested it…or someone from his staff did." He stopped talking to avoid getting tangled up in his own lie.

"Well," she said, closing the book with a loud thud. "You won't be needing this anymore."

"Actually, there a few chapters in the book about personal matters such as household arrangements, floor coverings for the wheelchair…"

"Matthew, honestly, this book is offensive. I can push you wherever you may need to go. I'm here now and can help you arrange whatever it is that you may need." She rubbed her hand on this shoulder affectionately. "I hope that you will let me."

He looked up in to her eyes. She meant well and was willing to sacrifice her entire life as woman for him. And Richard Carlisle was making a point loud and clear. Mary was being extracted from his life, the way a surgeon cuts out a heart.


	8. Chapter 8

Mary lay in bed wide awake. She couldn't sleep. She kept running the events of the evening over and over in her head. When Lavinia had arrived during dinner, she hadn't had a chance to finish her meal. She hadn't cared about her stomach earlier, in fact it had given her some nerves; but now it was grumbling and she was hungry. She glanced at the clock on her night stand. It was midnight. She couldn't wait another seven hours until breakfast, so she slipped out of bed, pulled on her matching white robe and slippers and began to make her way down to the butler's pantry.

As she descended the staircase she carefully slid her hand along the banister, her nightgown and robe flowing around her legs as she walked. It was dark, and the great hall was bathed in moonlight. The butler's pantry was a small room—a staging area of sorts—off of the main dining room, with a baize door for access from the kitchen. It had cupboards, a china cabinet, a side board for organizing serving trays and wine, and a small round pedestal table sat in the corner with several chairs. It had a small ice box for storage and a bar area. Mary smiled to herself recalling how she and Edith and Sybil used to sneak down for the cookies and milk which Carson always kept there for them, and still did.

She turned the corner of one of the long halls, pushing through the doorway in to the dining room, carefully closing it behind her. The room was dark and streaks of blue moonlight shined through the cracks of the drapes.

As she tiptoed around to the butler's pantry, a sound startled her. She stopped—frozen. A burglar? Isis? Richard? Oh, God, she pleaded to the heavens that it would not be Richard.

Suddenly, a lamp was turned on. "Matthew!" Her hand went to her chest, her breathing rapid. He was in his pajamas and bathrobe—the olive drab one from the Army which had Capt M.R Crawley embroidered over the upper left chest pocket. It made her smile. "You frightened me to death! What are you doing down here this time of night?" She tried to tighten her robe around her, keeping her voice a half whisper, still breathless from surprise.

"I frightened you?" He, too, was surprised and whispering loudly. "I'm in a wheelchair, for God's sake!" He was seated at the small table, with a biscuit jar open and a glass of milk, holding a cookie in one hand. "And I might ask you the same thing!"

Mary burst out laughing, one hand covering her mouth, muffling her giggles, her other hand holding her tummy. As Matthew Looked over at her, her laughter was infectious, prompting him to laugh as well, leaning his elbow on the table, his fist against his mouth.

"Ssshhh," he was holding a finger over his lips. "You'll wake everyone up."

Mary wondered who he was referring to when he said "everyone." She walked over to the little table, looking over his buffet of leftovers. "Oh, you have quite a feast going here." Her eyes roamed over the plates on the table and recited the dishes out loud. "Some left over sandwiches that Mrs. Patmore left in the ice box for pa-pa, lemon iced cookies, and…what is that?" She pointed to a small serving bowl.

"Chocolate mousse." He watched her knowing her eyes would light up.

They did. "Oh, may I have some?"

He held a chair out for her, and she took a seat. Matthew reached behind him to the extra dishware and pulled out a small plate and served her one sandwich quarter, a scoop of the mousse, and poured her a glass of milk. "What are you doing up?" His voice sounded concerned.

She nodded her head to one side. "Oh, I guess after Richard and Lavinia arrived, I never had a chance to eat. Too much excitement and…well, you know."

"Mmmm," he nodded, knowingly.

Mary put a spoonful of mousse in her mouth, pulling the spoon back out slowly, humming at the wonderful chocolate taste.

"Good?" He asked, the corners of his mouth turning upward as he watched her.

She nodded. "Yes." She enjoyed the decadent mousse, rich and chocolaty. It was quiet in the small room with only the two of them awake in the grand house. "I don't think Lavinia had anything to do with coming here tonight, Matthew." She watched his expression. "I think this was mainly Richard's doing, and probably some conspiring with ma-ma, I'm afraid. I'm dreadfully sorry. I know how frustrating it all must be for you, and for Lavinia." Mary took a breath. "I know how much you care for her, truly, I think."

Matthew was looking at her. He knew she meant what she said. He sighed. "Yes, I know. Carlisle is used to getting what he wants and is making his position abundantly clear, particularly to me," he confessed quietly. "I'm just sorry Lavinia has been caught up in all this and...well, she is determined to help me. She has refused to return to London." Some of the fight had gone out of him. "In order for you to have a life, Mary, I think it makes sense that I try again with Lavinia."

She could hear him thinking. "You're speaking again about the things we're supposed to do, rather then the things we want to do, aren't you?"

He didn't reply. He looked down at his plate, lost in thought, then looked back up at Mary, his smile returning. "Remember the last time we sat in the dining room sharing a late night snack together?" His voice was happy. He loved sitting with her while they were in their night clothes. It seemed like something a married couple would do.

She looked at him. His eyes glimmered in the dimly lit light. "Yes, the night of Sybil's fall at the rally." She smiled again. "Such a long time ago," she mused.

She remembered that he had proposed to her that night. _God she was an idiot_, she thought. She should have said yes right away and to hell with Pamuk—surely she could have told Matthew, couldn't she have? "You were annoyed with me, as I recall. You said I was mocking you."

They shared a laugh over the memory. What had she said? _Oh, Matthew—pay no attention to the things that I say. _He remembered their kiss_. _He looked at her now. They were slightly older, but not by much. "Well, it didn't prevent me from kissing you, did it?"

Mary softly chuckled back at him, her head resting on her hand now. "No, it didn't."

Matthew noticed her hair. "You know, I've never seen you with your hair in a braid."

"Oh!" her hand flew up to hair. She had forgotten all about her appearance.

He laughed, tilting his head. "It's alright. I rather like it."He mused to himself that if he had the use of his legs, and if they had ever married, he would have wanted to make love to her right here in the butler's pantry. But he knew that was never to be. He would live his days out married to Lavinia, and they would love each other in a nice way; and Mary would be shackled to Carlisle, and they would have children according to some sort of schedule that fit in to Carlisle's scheme of things. But at least she would have have them. Still, he thought, perhaps there would be stolen moments, like this, with Mary…perhaps, just maybe, love in the butler's pantry wasn't entirely implausible?

She chuckled, fiddling with her robe, which had come loose, the shoulder slipping down her arms. She looked at his appearance, his pajamas and robe, his hair was mussed and he had a five o'clock shadow where his beard was. He looked disheveled and relaxed, and entirely yummy, Mary thought.

Matthew watched her adjusting her robe, catching a glimpse of the swell of her breasts, realizing she wasn't wearing anything under her night clothes. He suddenly felt a funny sensation, as though something were uncoiling deep inside of him, coming alive, tingling….something familiar. He shook it off-phantom reflexes Clarkson had called them. Ghostly reminders of the man he used to be.

"The armistice is tomorrow…" He glanced at his watch. "…or rather, today. Thank God it's over."

"Yes, thank heavens." She held up her milk glass and they toasted. "Pa-pa has organized a ceremony in the great hall tomorrow morning at eleven, when the surrender is to be signed." She paused, reflecting about their mysterious patient. "And Captain P Gordon? Or could it have been Patrick Crawley?" She looked at Matthew intensley. "What do you think?"

Matthew thought. "I don't know...but if I had come back burned instead of broken, would you have known me?" His eyes implored her.

The thought broke her heart as much as his paralysis. But his eyes, his laugh, his smile...his touch. It all would have still been apart of him, no matter what. "Oh, Matthew...of course I would know you. How could I not?" Ironically, she thought how lucky they were.

Matthew thought about it all. "Then I think you have your answer. I think you and Robert would have known Patrick if it had been him, so I don't think it could have been." They looked at each other in thought about the answer they both knew to be true.

He sighed. "So many men, dead, Mary…and William." His face reflected his pain and regret at the war.

"William's death was a tragedy for us all. I hope we can commemorate him in some way—give some sort of meaning to his loss. But I'm so grateful you survived." Her fingers brushed his hand.

"A little worse for wear, I'm afraid." He chuckled.

"You've summoned the strength to cope with a new and different life."

His voice became a whisper. "You _are _my strength."

She held his gaze for a long time. "And with the armistice, a new beginning is at hand, is it not?"

He sighed. "Yes it is. The beginning of a new day."


	9. Chapter 9

Later that night, in the early morning hours, Matthew and Mary said goodnight in the darkened hallway, just outside the door to his bedroom. They didn't kiss or anything else that might have been construed as remotely improper. His fiancée had returned, determined to take care of him, and he had not fought it; and Sir Richard Carlisle had staked his place beside Mary, publicly putting her on a leash, which she had not stopped. They had both made decisions—things they were supposed to do, at least for now.

Mary's hands were clasped in front of her, and Matthew sat relaxed in his chair, looking at her.

"Thank you for a lovely midnight buffet," she said gently, smiling at him.

He knew these moments would now become few and far between. There were other people in their lives again, and wedding plans would soon begin to take shape for both of them at some point, he was sure. "I'm so glad you joined me; a fellow insomniac to share it with."

"Our secret, right?" She gave him a knowing look.

He nodded. "'course, it is our secret. You can count on me."

She gave him one final warm smile, turned and padded down the hallway towards the great hall, and the staircase. He sat, watching her until she was out of sight, and then withdrew to his quarters.

* * *

The dream had begun obscurely, foggy, and then became clearer and more lifelike. Matthew dreamt that he was walking through Downton, along the main floor. In his dreams he always imagined he could walk. It was apparently evening since he was wearing white tie and his black tail coat. He continued walking from the great hall, and around through the library. He saw that the double French doors were opened, and Mary stood outside looking out over the grounds, dressed in a deep burgundy gown and long black gloves. A gentle snowfall was drifting around her; her arms wrapped around her front, but she didn't appear to be cold.

As he stepped outside to join her, his feet crunched in the snow. He strained to hear what they were discussing, but he could only decipher bits and pieces, something about forgiving Mary, and a vow to the memory of Lavinia.

Forgive Mary? But for what? And a vow to the memory of Lavinia…but where had she gone?

Then he was suddenly getting down on bended knee, taking Mary's hand in his. He was proposing to her, and without a moment's hesitation, she accepted him. He could feel his heart surge with delight and love for her. He stood up quickly, taking her in his arms, embracing her and sharing a kiss. She threw her arms around him to hug him and he picked her up, twirling her around in circles as the snow fell all around them. Even though it was dream, he felt deliriously happy.

They stepped back in to the library, where it was warm, shutting the doors behind them. A fire burned in the fireplace and the room glowed orange and red hues. He turned to her, holding out his arms in a silent invitation to dance, and she slowly slid in to them. Quietly, and ever so gently, their bodies moved together as they dance across the floor, in the slowest of motion. She was pressed up against him, and their faces were only inches apart, their mouths practically touching. She could feel his body respond to her and their dancing. He leaned forward and their mouths brushed together, sending a spark of electricity through both of them. She shuddered in his arms at his touch and the sound of his voice as he whispered something in to her ear; yet in his dream state he could not hear what he said.

She looked up in to his eyes and nodded. He stepped backward, toward the library door, pulling her by her hands, their arms extended out between them. She followed, a smile on her face. He turned, still holding one of her hands, and began to walk, out of the library and down the hall, pulling her gently. He looked back at her, and she was giggling. He realized where he was taking her.

As they entered his bedroom, it was dark and quiet. He turned to ensure she followed him inside, then softly shut the door. She slid her arms up and around his neck, and his mouth closed around hers in a long, slow kiss. He moaned at the feel of her, his hands smoothing up her back. She took several steps forward, causing him to walk backward, until he had backed up against the door. She pressed herself in to him and could feel his hard arousal, and she groaned in to his open mouth, slipping her hands up in to his hair. He angled his head nearly sideways, sliding his tongue deeper in to her mouth, breathing and moaning at the erotic sensation of it.

She moved her hands and began untying his white bow tie, slipping it open at his neck, and then pushed his jacket over his shoulders and down own his arms, letting it fall to the floor. His hands reached up and pulled the combs from her hair, which tumbled around her shoulders. He dropped the combs and they skittered on the floor—he should have cared but he didn't. He nudged her across the room, toward the bed. It was her turn to walk backwards.

He unfastened the back of her dress, causing the back to fall open and he pulled the shoulder straps forward, permitting it to slide down her arms and her body. It glided off in one swoop to the floor, and she stepped out of it. She was standing in a black slip and long gloves. She toed her shoes off and as she pushed her gloves down her arms he took her mouth again, his kiss hot and wet, the sounds from his throat vibrating in her.

She was panting and pleading with him, desperately unbuttoning his shirt, which slipped off easily. He nudged her back on to the bed. She sat down on it and raised her hands to begin unbuttoning his trousers, smoothing them open and on to his hips, revealing his member, erect, thick and straining. His need was so strong it was painful between his legs. He couldn't tell if he pushed her back on to the bed, or if she pulled him down on top of her, but in one fluid motion she was lying down, and he was looming over her. One of his knees was on the mattress, and one foot was still on the floor; his hands on either side of her head. He bent down and began kissing her neck. Her back arched up towards him. They had waited so long, and had been through so much. He lifted the hem of her slip over her hips and looking down he could see that her center was wet and glistening. He groaned aloud and gently touched his fingers to her, gently swirling several fingertips around her little spot and in to the creamy essence.

She arched her back and moaned, her arms pleading with him to lie down on top of her. He carefully nudged her knees apart to open her to him. He leaned over her, one hand down on the mattress bracing him, his other hand on his body, easing the head just inside of her. He paused and thought they both might come just from the sensation of that alone. Slowly, he pushed in to her, and she let out a soft, deep moan. One of his feet was still on the floor to give him purchase, and his other knee was bent on the bed. He slid out and then back down in to her again, grinding his hips, deepening their connection…they both groaned. His head dropped down to her collar bone. His hips moved again, out and then slowly plunged back in, deep, to her core. They were both panting—their breathing quickening. He began to pump her harder. He turned his head to look at her and saw her eyes roll to the back of her head. His fists were gripping the bed sheets, and he was moaning louder. "Oh, God…yes" he panted, his hips moving, her body shaking underneath him. Her head bent back in to the mattress as she cried out, a vibration quaking through her. He had never seen it happen—it was mesmerizing. He bent down and kissed her, swallowing her erotic cries in to his mouth.

They were reckless and had not taken any precautions. His hips were banging in to her, she was coming hard again, her hands grasping his arms, and he was ready to explode deep inside of her. His hair had fallen over his face, his body jerking, causing the bed frame to bump up against the wall, thudding in rythm as he thrust in to her. He suddenly remembered what day of the month it was—the twelfth—and realized he could make her pregnant.

Instead of stopping, the thought completely enraptured him and pushed him off a cliff, "Oh, my God, Mary!" His body went stiff, his back arched, his climax shooting through him and in to her. He sobbed out, his voice strangled, his body pulsing inside of her, filling her with his life, as she moaned…. "_more, oh, God, please , more…."_ with every thrust of his hips.

He shuddered and fell on top of her, resting his head on her chest, exhaling, mumbling an expletive at the intensity of his orgasm. Her arms went around him, hugging him, and she kissed his damp hair. They were a tangled heap on the bed.

"Matthew?" Her voice was soft and tender. "Matthew?"

"Mmmmm..." he was still moaning and breathing heavily.

The voice changed, sounding different. It was pulling him out from his haze…and out from the dream…."_Matthew_?"

He woke up, startled. He was lying in his bed. His eyes blinked and he looked around. Lavinia was standing just outside the doorway, her fingers wrapped around the door to speak in to him. "Matthew?" Her voice was sweet and concerned.

He was catching his breath. "Yes?" He was wearing pajamas and the covers were pulled over him.

She peeked around the door at him. "Are you alright? I was just coming down for breakfast and thought to stop round and it sounded like you might be having a bad dream?" She looked like a new penny. Bright and shiny.

His head fell back on the pillow. One of his hands went up and rested on his forehead. "Yes, I'm quite alright, darling. Just a dream, that's all. Thank you for checking."

Satisfied, Lavinia smiled and nodded, pulling the door closed, and went on to the dining room for breakfast.

Matthew blinked his eyes and pressed his lips together. He felt something inside his body—something that had stirred. He felt arousal—a tingling sensation that was running through him, even in his lower extremities. He leaned up, pulling the covers back. He looked down at the front of his pajamas and clearly saw the indications of an erotic dream.

* * *

The armistice. On the eleventh hour, of the eleventh day, of the eleventh month of that year, the armistice was signed. The Great War that had engulfed Europe and England was finally at an end.

Matthew had dressed in his uniform, likely for the last time. Lavinia was with him, dutifully by his side, wearing a dark blue suit. As they gathered in the great hall, Matthew noticed Richard and Mary coming down from upstairs. Carlisle was talking, no doubt going on about something, and Mary quietly listened.

Matthew wondered what it was that had compelled Mary to be with Carlisle in the first place? What had it been that that prompted her to his side? He wondered. But as he watched them coming down the stairs, he knew that despite the complications of Richard Carlisle, Mary would also have a normal life, a beautiful home, and a family around her. He loved her—and because of his love for her he wanted her to have the life she _should _have. So he was making the choice _for _her.

That cool November morning, the remaining officers, household staff, family members and attendants, gathered to commemorate the surrender.

"I think, while the clock strikes, we should all make a silent prayer, to mark the finish of this terrible war and what that means for each and every one of us…" Robert's voice reverently floated across the room.

At the appointed hour, the chimes on the mantle clock above the large fireplace began to sound. The room, and all its company, came to attention, in silent contemplation. The chimes struck eleven times…a mournful tone as the war was put to rest.

"Remember, everyone…" Robert's voice was encouraging, but a gentle warning. "This is not just the end of a long war. But the dawn of a new age."

Matthew sat listening. He took Robert's words to heart. _The dawn of a new age. _He thought about the dream he had. A dream, or a premonition? Had he seen in to the future?

Lavinia walked up behind him to push his wheelchair, interrupted by Bates who offered to assist. "Can you get him back to his room, please?"

As Bates pushed the wheelchair, it bounced several times along the old carpeting, jostling Matthew. "Oh, wait…" he muttered.

"Something wrong sir?" Bates asked in concern, maybe he had done something wrong.

"No, nothing." Mathew thought. "Bates, if I felt something…."

"If you felt what sir?"

Matthew paused, looking ahead again. "It doesn't matter. Not yet….not until I feel it again." Inside of himself he knew what was happening. He was beginning to regain his feeling, and perhaps the use of his body.


	10. Chapter 10

Epilogue – Downton Abbey, March 1920

Matthew couldn't sleep. He lay awake in bed; one of his arms was draped over his head. He listened as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve, the old Westminster chimes softly announcing the hour. _Midnight_, he thought. He decided he was hungry, so he got up, pulling on his Army robe and slippers. Regaining his full mobility had not yet lost its novelty and he wriggled his toes, enjoying the feel of his freedom and health. He headed out the door, for the butler's pantry.

He padded down around the corridor, and through the dining room door. Tip-toeing inside, he crept quietly around to the pantry area. But he saw that the lamp was already on. He smiled to himself knowing who it would be. He crept along the wall, sneaking up on her. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't resist.

Peering around the corner, he saw Mary, in her white robe and slippers, bent over, her arms reaching in to the ice box. She was rummaging around for something. Her dark brown hair was braided in a single braid down her back, just like he remembered from the first time he ran in to her during a midnight snack. He was getting quite a view of her derrière, which he admired by tilting his head to one side, before speaking.

"Find any chocolate mousse?"

"Wha!" Mary shot up, spinning around, her hand flying up to her chest. "Matthew!"

He huffed out a laugh, stepping in to the pantry, his arms folded across his front. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to…" His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment; then he looked back up at her from under his brow. "…well, maybe I did sneak up on you a bit. I'm sorry."

Mary was panting from being surprised. "God, you scared the daylights out of me."

He chuckled, reaching out a hand and patting her arm. "I'm sorry, truly I am."

She smiled, obviously happy to see him. "Oh, it's alright."

Matthew glanced down at her plate. He noticed it had at least eight or nine cucumber sandwiches on it. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "That's quite a midnight feast. You must be ravenous?"

She blushed. "I suppose I didn't finish all of my dinner."

His eyebrows knitted—he sat next to her at dinner and seemed to remember that she had eaten everything. He brushed it off, smiling at her. "Well, do you mind if I join you?"

"Of course not!" She smiled brightly, and reached over to the small table, moving some things to make room for him. As her fingers moved, her engagment ring glittered in the dim lighting.

He noticed the book she picked up. "May I ask what are you reading?" He was sincerely interested. "Perhaps it is something we can read together? Like we used to?" His tone was sweet and sentimental. "I enjoyed our little book club together."

"Oh, no…I don't think it is anything you would be interested in." She was fidgeting with the items on the table. "We can find another book to enjoy."

He looked at her funny. "Hold on, at least let me see what it is you're reading. You might be surprised what I like to read."

She was slightly exasperated. "I don't think…" before she could finish her sentence, Matthew reached around behind her, snatching the book from her other hand. "Matthew! Now, give that back!"

He held the book up in the air, a teasing smile in his face. "I just want to know what it is—I promise I won't make fun of it or anything." He was chuckling but his voice was warm.

"No, no, Matthew, honestly, it's just some romantic fiction nonsense!" She was reaching up in the air, trying to grab the book from his grasp, but he was too tall.

He gently put a hand on Mary's shoulder, to hold her at bay, and with the other hand he held the book out front and read the title aloud. "_The Royal Academy of Medicine: A Guide for the Expectant Mother_…" He laughed again softly, as he contemplated the title. His eyes squinted and then he looked back at Mary. "Studying up to help Sybil with her baby?" He was sincerely curious.

Mary stood back now, looking at him anxiously. "No, not exactly." Her voice was quiet, she was wringing her hands and didn't say anything further.

"Helping a friend?" His eyes sparkled, still slightly full of tease.

"No, not a friend." Mary's voice was deep and somewhat apologetic.

He blinked at her, still smiling, and then back at the book. "Well, then…" His voice cut off as he studied the titled again. His eyes looked off in thought, and then down at the table where her plate sat, piled with sandwiches. He looked back at her; his eyes were now wide open. "Oh, my God." He breathed it out in a panicked whisper.

Mary's eyelashes fluttered nervously as she continued to wring her hands. "I was going to tell you."

"Oh, my God!" He repeated, his voice filled with astonishment.

She was whispering, sounding slightly breathless. "I know we were only together once in _that_ _way_…"

"Yes..." He looked at her, his eyes still wide, his mouth open. He could barely speak. "The night I proposed." He calculated she was a little over two months along.

"Yes," she nodded, taking several steps back, "And I didn't think anything like this could happen, you see." She was breathing rapidly. "I didn't even confirm it myself until recently….and, well, I knew how upset you might be."

Matthew was staring off in to space, his hands and the book at his side. Suddenly he looked back at her and saw that her hands were trembling. "Oh, Mary…" He set the book down and stepped toward her. "I'm not upset…"

One of her hands went up to her mouth to muffle her crying as large tears began to roll down her cheeks.

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Mary. Listen to me. I am not upset." He pulled her to him. "Please don't cry."

Her arms went up around his neck and she hugged him fiercely. "Oh, Matthew, I have been so worried."

"SShhhh…" he whispered in to her ear. "Why didn't you tell me?" His arms held her tightly, and his hands smoothing over her back.

"Because I know you've been working so hard at work on Bates' exoneration case, and of course there's the wedding next week, and just, well, everything."

"Nothing is more important to me than you," he paused, "Well, that is, if you don't count the baby, of course." He smiled against her temple, kissing her hair.

She chuckled against him and the vibrations of her body made him smile. He motioned for her to sit down, and she glided down in to the chair, wiping her eyes.

He reached in to a drawer from the side board and pulled out a white linen napkin, shook it out and handed it to her. "How do you feel?" He knelt down in front of her.

"Oh, I'm alright." She blew her nose. "I'm sorry I'm blubbering. I really did intend to tell you sooner."

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Have you been to a doctor?" He really didn't want to hear the answer, but her health was more important than his reputation in town.

"Yes, I secretly went to Dr. Clarkson, under the strictest confidence of course. He's sworn to secrecy."

He cringed inwardly. _Clarkson knows_, he thought. If Robert ever found out, Matthew would be put in front of a firing squad. "Good, I'm glad. And is everything alright?" He was rubbing his hands up and down her arms.

"Yes, yes, he said everything is fine." She blew out a breath, her hands resting in her lap. Her face had fallen.

He leaned forward and kissed her lips tenderly. "Look, it is a surprise, but I can't tell you how happy I am, honestly."

"Oh, you don't mean that. I know it's a shock, Matthew. It was to me, too."

He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted it up. "But I do, Mary. It wasn't that long ago that I thought that having children of my own, let alone walking, would never be possible. The most I could have hoped for would have been to share other people's children, including yours. But now this? I can't imagine better news." He smiled at her, caressing her cheek with his fingers. He smiled lovingly at her. "So I suppose in church next week, I'll be marrying both of you."

Mary's smile came back and she leaned in and kissed him, lingering on his lips. She laughed. "In America, they would call our marriage a shotgun wedding."

Matthew burst out laughing. He bent down on to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against her shoulder.

Mary's arms draped around his neck, one of her hands slipped through his hair, her head resting on his.

He pulled back. "I have an idea. Why don't we take this mountainous plate of cucumber sandwiches…"

"You're making fat jokes."

"Only a little one. As I was saying, why don't we take our midnight snack and the book down the hall to my bedoom, and read a little together, like we used to?"

She rested her forehead against his. Her tone was deep and sensuous. "It has some steamy parts."

He looked at her through hooded eyes and nuzzled his nose against hers. "The Royal Academy of Medicine continues to go up in my estimation."

They walked out together, arms around each other, the book in Mary's hand...and their baby nestled inside her.

Fin!

_This fic was titled Missing Scene From Episode Six, so here is where I'll wrap it up. But perhaps it would be fun to give the same treatment to another episode…perhaps missing scenes from S1 episode five where M/M kiss? Or missing scenes from S2 episode four where Matthew and William were missing in action? Hmmmmm…endless possibilities! Thank you for reading! ;-)_


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